A Day in the Life
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: Oneshot intermediate sequel to my fic Envelopment: several months have passed. What is a day in Magneto's life like now? gradually leading to MR pairing


Title: A Day in the Life  
Note: Written for the _a day in the life_ challenge at dementedallure.  
Summary: One-shot that follows my fic Envelopment. Several months have passed; what is a day in Magneto's life like now?  
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to X-Men.

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Magneto allowed himself a slight groan as a bright shaft of sunlight pierced through his windows and onto his eyelids. He hadn't been sleeping exactly, rather, he had been in that pleasant state of not-quite sleep and not-quite awareness that he had been entering more and more as he aged. The brightness of the dawn sun against his face was a jarring return to reality.

_The one thing I've never appreciated about my gift,_ he mused, _is that it makes having an alarm clock impossible._ After nearly a dozen destroyed alarm clocks over the years, he had learned that his control over metal and magnetic fields combined with the nightmares he had most nights rendered most electronic items utterly useless after a couple of days. Consequently, he had been forced to arrange his furniture in such a way that the rising sun woke him every morning. It was not as pleasant an awakening as, say, classical music drifting gently from a speaker, but it did the trick.

He rose and performed his morning ablutions with a vitality not often seen in men much younger than he, pausing as he brushed his teeth to examine the deep age lines in his face and to shave away the very beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. He had been called handsome in his youth, he knew, but years of care and toil had carved his face into an imperious mask. _Perhaps that is why she…_ Best not to finish that thought.

He dressed himself meticulously from his closet of nearly uniform garments: sweaters, sweaters, more sweaters, and his uniform, which thankfully he rarely felt the need to wear inside his fortress. A simple pair of slacks and some comfortable dress shoes completed the picture, and he felt ready to face the world as the self-proclaimed Master of Magnetism, Magneto, the man who was once Erik Lensherr but who had become so much more.

He waved the door to his room open, then strode briskly down several corridors and floors until he reached the kitchen. One of the rules of the fortress was that everyone participated in the chores of keeping the fledgling army comfortable and well-fed, including its master. For a while, there had been two exceptions to the rule.

The first was Wolverine, who had scoffed at the very idea of being forced to cook or wash dishes. He was there, he insisted, only in order to make sure that Rogue was taken care of -- his job description said nothing about becoming chef to the Brotherhood. Fortunately, Wolverine was a problem Magneto always had well in hand, as the other mutant found out when Magneto used his powers to force his claws to spring out and act as kitchen knives for slicing carrots. Ever since that rather memorable incident, which Pyro had captured on video camera much to Wolverine's dismay, the gruff mutant had grudgingly agreed to wash dishes once a week.

The second exception was Rogue. After that night on top of the fortress, after he had kissed her and she had let him, their relationship had been quite awkward. He was well aware that he had taken advantage of her vulnerability when he had kissed her, but he also thought that maybe she had enjoyed it as much as he had. And, despite the fact that he had quite happily informed her that she could stay for as long as she wanted, he felt that the fortress was not a home to her, merely a place to recoup after her ordeal. As a result, he had never demanded that she participate in the chores as the others did, and preferred to watch her from a distance, analyzing her every move and driving himself mad with curiosity about her state of mind and desire to touch her once again.

Finally, Rogue had gone to Mystique, who was in charge of such mundane tasks as arranging the schedule for chores, to complain that she felt more like a guest than a resident at the fortress. She had demanded to be given the same amount of work as everyone else. Mystique, for some perverse reason Magneto still didn't understand, had scheduled Rogue for cooking breakfast on Mondays and Wednesdays -- the same days that Magneto cooked. Her excuse was that there were now enough people in the fortress for two people to cook at the same time to feed everyone. Rogue hadn't complained about the arrangement, despite the fact that she had avoided him like the plague ever since that night. He could hardly complain about it without complaining about Rogue herself as a cooking partner, and he wasn't about to go to Mystique and whine about the schedule for no good reason.

So here he was, on a Monday morning once again, the morning after the Brotherhood's weekly day off, heading down to the kitchen to see, but not touch, the girl who had quite literally become the girl of his dreams. She was there before him, as she often was, standing in front of the kitchen counter and competently cracking eggs into a bowl. The sunlight gleamed gloriously off of the white streak in her hair and around her slender body, clothed in her usual sweats and gloves.

"Good morning," he said cordially, as he did every morning.

"Good morning," she returned without looking at him, as she did every morning.

And that was that. They didn't speak for the rest of the hour they spent cooking, familiar enough with the Monday ritual to need no words. Rogue prepared the omelets and bacon; Magneto took care of the pancakes and orange juice. They were scrupulously careful not to touch, and the one time Magneto passed a hair too close to her she flinched away from him and nearly burned herself on hot grease.

He stifled a sigh, then flipped a pancake -- one with chocolate chips in it for Pyro. It had been like this for months now, with her acting skittish and uncomfortable around him for reasons he could only guess at. He suspected that in hindsight she deeply regretted allowing him to kiss her, especially after the way Wolverine had blown up at the sight of them sharing warmth on top of the fortress. Perhaps she remained at the fortress because she felt safe in its isolation, but didn't necessarily want anything to do with its master.

She was driving him to distraction. Her absence from his life in every way that truly mattered was something he felt keenly throughout the day and long into the night, and he hated it. Before he had rescued her, when she had merely been "that brave girl whom I tried to kill once," he had been fascinated by her but not obsessed. Seeing what had been done to her because of the information he had given Stryker about her had struck a cord deep inside him, however, and the weeks he spent recuperating after her devastating touch had given his obsession plenty of time to take root deep inside of him. He had been sure that she would become part of his Brotherhood, perhaps replace Mystique as his second-in-command so that the metamorphosing mutant could return to the solitary operations she was so good at. He had planned just how to handle her, just the look her would wear when he told her his grand schemes for the supremacy of mutants. Then she had looked at him from those soulful brown eyes, had asked him in a tentative voice, "can I stay?" and he had had to kiss her, had had to hold her, had had to give her his heart.

Things had gone downhill from there.

She sat as far away from him as she could at the breakfast table, carefully cutting each piece of pancake with the Southern charm he now found so attractive. Wolverine sat next to her devouring most of the bacon, eyeing her protectively with one eye and shooting furious glares at Magneto from the other. Magneto knew that the other mutant had repeatedly tried to convince Rogue to leave the fortress, but that she had stubbornly refused.

Pyro played with his lighter most of the meal until Mystique shot him one of those looks that made him gulp and put it away. She, like Magneto, ate with a calm efficiency that implied that they ate because they had to, rather than because they enjoyed it. The other members of the Brotherhood tried, as always, to break the uncomfortable silence with jokes or chit-chat, only to become mute after several failed attempts. After twenty minutes of quiet consumption, everyone went their separate ways: Wolverine to the kitchen to wash dishes, Pyro and Rogue to the gym, Mystique and Magneto to his office, and the rest of the Brotherhood to their typical preparations for dastardly deeds.

"Have we had any success in locating the last of Stryker's bases?" he asked Mystique as soon as they were in the seclusion of his office.

"Not yet," she replied peevishly -- she always seemed peevish these days -- "but there are some other important targets we need to consider right now."

He steepled his fingers, gazing at her intently through his silver eyes. "Stryker's bases are my top priority at the moment, as you well know, Raven."

She frowned. "Erik, this obsession really isn't attractive. Talk to the girl, do something, but quit letting it interfere with our work."

His eyebrows drew together in an ominous frown. "Let's not have this conversation, Raven," he said angrily. He was tired of rehashing the same arguments they had had the day before, and the day before that. "I don't want to hear this from you again."

"Well you've got to hear it from somebody, Erik, and I'm the only one who'll dare speak to you this way. You spend all of your time watching her, you obviously think about her constantly. You take even more care with your appearance, and you show up late for cooking breakfast every morning just so you can have a moment to watch her cooking without her noticing. You're in love with her. It's pathetic."

The metal balls on his desk, usually so soothing in their constant rhythm, fell to the desk and rolled off it haphazardly as he stood abruptly, fury radiating from his body. "Out," he commanded, and the blaze in his eye was enough to make even his headstrong second do as he ordered. He waited until he was sure that she had gone, then made his way to the gym.

Once there, he settled into his usual corner, one that was out of the way and hidden in shadow, watching her go through her routine as he had done every day for the past few months. His eyes unerringly tracked her progress as she ran the last of her laps around the gym, then faced off against Pyro in a no-holds-barred fighting match. He watched in approval as she darted inside the other mutant's personal space and took hold of his arms, draining him of his power even as he tried to fight her off. However much his relationship with her had proven a disappointment since that night, Rogue's other resolutions had held true. She was obviously working on being more comfortable with her power, controlling it rather than letting it control her, though she still wore her gloves constantly when she was not in the gym. The two younger mutants engaged in several more bouts, all of which were won by Rogue, who was more canny and actually fought dirtier -- Wolverine's influence, no doubt -- than her larger, stronger opponent. She did come away with several singed hairs, however.

They all went to lunch after that, Rogue glancing at him in skittish curiosity as she passed him on the way out of the shower room, clearly wondering what he was doing there but too cautious to ask. Mystique had made a simple lunch of sandwiches which were quickly consumed before the fortress's inhabitants dispersed again. Magneto knew that Rogue would go to the library now to peruse his books on strategy, human nature, philosophy, and history, and he resolved that he would not follow her there today, and would instead stay in his office and actually get some work done.

Several hours later, he exited a little side room connected with the library and with a clear line of sight to the table at which Rogue just happened to be sitting, nearly running into Mystique as he did so. "Ah, Raven, just the woman I was looking for," he said calmly, handing her a stack of papers. "If you would be so kind as to look over these battle plans?"

Mystique looked from him to the stack of papers to the door from which he had just emerged, shook her blue head in disgust, spat "pathetic" at him, then stalked away.

He was well aware that Rogue would spend the rest of the day until dinner attending classes with the young members of the Brotherhood, learning such valuable lessons as assembling and dismantling explosives and how to staunch bleeding in a combat situation, and there he really couldn't follow her without being seen. He slunk off to his office and brooded -- best not to ask the subject of his brooding -- for the better part of an hour before Mystique entered the room without knocking. She seemed almost surprised to see him actually in his office, but then her face hardened. She threw the papers down onto his desk so that he could see the way she had angrily marked them up in red.

"Sloppy," she said. "Unless you want to get some of our greener recruits killed, I suggest you get your head in the game, Erik, or there _will_ be consequences."

He frowned, and this time it was clear that he was angry with himself rather than with her. "You're right, of course," he conceded reluctantly. "I'll do my best, Raven, but…it is hard."

To that, she said nothing, instead seeming satisfied to leave him in a repentant state of mind. He spent the rest of the afternoon reworking his plans with the tireless efficiency he was famous for in the Brotherhood until they were perfect. He then proceeded to dinner, where he found that he was late to arrive due to his absorption in his work. He could hear Rogue speaking animatedly as he entered, and hovered in the doorway for a long moment as he watched her converse with Pyro about the optimal placement of an explosive for maximum destruction. Pyro glanced up, saw him, coughed slightly, and Rogue nearly gave herself whiplash turning her head to see him. She reddened slightly, her fair complexion darkened with embarrassment or some other emotion he couldn't fathom, then retreated into the customary cold silence she seemed to embrace whenever he was around.

Needless to say, the meal was awkward.

The Brotherhood planned to watch a movie after dinner -- it was Wolverine's turn to choose, so it would doubtlessly involve bloodshed and the death of poor innocent creatures at the claws of some mighty predator -- he had chosen _Bambi_ last time -- and Magneto left them to their recreation content for his army to take the evening to relax after a hard day of training. He went to the library, intent on brushing up on his Shakespeare, and had just settled into one of his favorites, _Richard III_, when he heard the door open and Rogue stepped inside.

She halted when she saw him, the expression on her face being somewhat like a deer caught in headlights. "I didn't know anyone else was in here," she said, wringing her gloved hands together. "I can go," she offered.

"Please don't," he said quietly in return. "There's plenty of room here for both of us."

She nodded slowly, then grabbed a well-worn book off the shelves and curled up on a chair.

Magneto tried to read, found that lines that he knew by heart made no sense to him, and finally sought to break the silence. "I'm surprised you're not watching the movie," he said.

She twirled a strand of white hair around her finger, her pretty face tense. "Sometimes, being around so many people, I start hearing the voices in my head again," she told him, not meeting his eyes. "Being alone for a while helps a little."

He stiffened in surprise at the revelation that the voices in her head had begun to bother her again. "I had thought…" his voice trailed off.

She colored, shrugged. "The voices were mostly subdued for a while right after, but as time passes the strength of each seems to begin to level out. I can live with it as is, it's just sometimes it gets a bit much."

He stood from his own seat and strode towards hers, looming over her as she blinked owlishly up at him. He thought to demand why she didn't say anything, then thought better of it. Instead, he reached up his bare hand to her face in what might have been a caress if he hadn't then held on to her skin, his whole body tense as he felt the pull begin and his energy began to siphon away. Moments later, before any serious damage could be done, Rogue tore herself away from his touch, gasping as if she too had undergone an ordeal. She stood and grabbed his arms, helping him to sit down in her seat so that their positions were exchanged and it was she who looked down on him.

Her eyes seemed to clear even as he watched, his strong presence assimilating itself in her mind. She blinked. "They've gone quiet again," she said. She looked down at her gloved hand, then reached it forward to cup the side of his face. "Thank you," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear. She allowed her hand to brush over his short silver hair so that he felt as if a breeze were caressing the top of his head. "You're not unattractive at all, you know," she told him abruptly, stepping back so as to be well out of his reach as she spoke, as if she were afraid of unsettling him. "You weren't just handsome as a youth; you're very handsome now, too. The grey...well, it's very distinguished, and the lines only show that you care about people. You shouldn't worry about how you look; there's nothing to worry about."

She quit talking, and there was a moment of silence between them, one that he knew he could break by asking her what it was about him that pushed her away, if it wasn't the damage that age had done to his body. He used the excuse of needing to gasp for air after the energy transfer to avoid having to speak. She seemed almost disappointed, then shook herself slightly, headed to the door, hesitated, said another quiet "thank you," and disappeared from his sight.

He spend several long moments pulling himself back together, then slowly rose from his seat and made his way to his bedroom. He brushed his teeth and changed into his night clothes with the same quiet precision that he used in all of his actions -- or had used, until Rogue came along -- then crawled into bed.

"Raven is right," he muttered to himself tiredly as he lay in bed, eyes closed, waiting for sleep that would be a long time coming. "You could have said something to her, you could have done anything to try to communicate with her, but all you did was stare at her." He sighed as he shifted, his aging body finding it difficult to become comfortable on the mattress. It struck him that he would be much more comfortable if only he weren't alone, if, for example, Rogue was lying beside him, covered from head to toe of course. He quashed the thought, then sighed. "Just another day in the life of Magneto, lovesick evil mastermind."


End file.
